I Can't Quit You, Baby
by TwiggyFallon
Summary: Her torment was laid out in beautiful hysteria on the bathroom floor. But Spot never saw any of it.
1. Letters and Lives

I own Twiggy (the newsie, not the model), and other characters that may appear in this story. I do not, however, own Spot Conlon (sigh). Hope you enjoy, and Please review!

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It was the kind of love with secrets that, besides the two lovers, were whispered only to the blackest streets of Brooklyn. The kind of love you couldn't measure in dates, months, or in kisses. You couldn't fathom it unless you could actually felt it eating its way into your soul. It was impossible to know how and when it happened, but you knew somehow that this time, it was different; a piece of chocolate so sweet it made you sick to your stomach, a love so great even pain could not touch it. And after a while, they could not recognize the difference between the tears shed from their eyes and the blood shed from their skin.

My arm throbbed as scarlet droplets delicately rained onto the dirty white paper.

_Dear Boy,_

_I just want tell you that a rat ate your bread. I would give you some of mine, but the same thing just happened to me. _

_Twiggy_

I reached my thin arm between the bars, dropping the letter on the dirt floor into the cell of the boy next to me. I had secretly fallen in love with him; the way he sang sad tunes to himself like he was living a tragic life, the way he looked when he was in a peaceful sleep. I watched carefully for a few moments until the boy woke up, and seeing the letter, he read it. I ducked under and sat against the stone so that he could not see me watching him, and I backed away slowly. I waited a few seconds and heard him scribbling something. Suddenly, I felt a piece of paper drop on my head. He had written on the same paper, and I read it carefully.

_Twiggy, _

_Better him than us. It was all moldy. _

_Spot_

Spot? My head shot up from the paper. Spot _Conlon?_ I had heard so any things about him – just as many good things as bad, but they had come from so many different sources. But I had no idea that _that _was Spot Conlon!

I turned around, slowly rising up until I could see into his cell.

"Thanks for tellin' me. I woulda ate it," I smirked.

"Wouldn't hoit ya," I heard a soft masculine voice from the cell next to me.

"You'se could use some meet on ya bones."

I frowned and looked down. I sighed and reached my gaze back at him again. " You'se is Spot Conlon?" I heard a small chuckle come from his cell, and I saw him get up and sit as close as my cell as he could.

"What is ya gonna do if I am?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Squeeze through these bars an' show ya how every goil newsie would feel about bein' in a jail cell next ta Spot Conlon."

Spot rested his chin on his hand and smiled. "Where ya from?" He asked.

"Queens," I said matter-of-factly.

"So, Twiggy from Queens, what is a goil like you'se doin' in here?"

I looked at Spot and laughed. "What every othah newsie is doin' in here," I told him. "The rally. 'Dey only caught a few a us, an' I guess you, for plannin' the whole thing."

Spot cringed and looked down. "I din't know there was more 'a them in here. I guess I jist haven't noticed 'cause we'se is in the lowest level of the buildin'."

I looked around, suddenly realizing they were the only two down there.

"So why'd they put me wid' _you_?" I wondered aloud.

"'Dey probably ran outta room. Still, 'dey shouldnta put a lady in 'da coldest an' dirtiest place. 'Dat ain't right."

I shrugged it off. "When is ya gettin' out?" I inquired, still sitting right at the bars.

"Dunno," he answered. I suddenly almost got lost in his sea-blue eyes and thick lashes that seemed to hint at a dangerous past – in a very sexy way.

"So is you 'da only goil newsie in Queens?" He asked.

"Yeah, 'dey don't like goils stayin' wid' them, 'cause they think we'se smell different an' all. But for some reason 'dey let me in."

Spot chuckled. "Probably 'cause you're prettier than all a the other goils."

I tried to cool my body temperature so my embarrassment wouldn't show in my cheeks.

"So y'know Link?" Spot asked, and I nodded. "He's a good friend a' mine."

Just as I was about to speak, someone broke through the doors to the basement, and Spot and I both separated from the conjoined bars to our cells and pretended to be sleeping. I could hear is footsteps on the cold cobblestone and was terrified the man was going to do something to me. I did, however, hear him open the steel doors to Spot's cell.

"Alright, Conlon, either you give me names, or you'se is gonna be in here for the rest of your life, ya hear me?"

"I ain't telling ya nothin'," Spot said in his low, deep voice.

"Conlon, I'm warnin' you!" The man began to raise his voice. "Who worked wid' you on this, huh?"

Spot kept silent, and I raised my head up to watch what was going on.

"I'm givin' you one last chance ta redeem yourself, Conlon. Who else was involved?"

"I ain't tellin' ya nothin'," Spot repeated. suddenly I saw the man's leg jolt back, forcefully kicking Spot's stomach, and the muffled moan escape Spot's mouth as he tried to keep quiet.

"Ya good for nothin' street rat!" The man yelled powerfully at him while Spot lay still on the ground. I quickly returned to my sleeping position and shut my eyes, clenching my fists to the hay I was laying on and praying that he didn't come in and do the same to me. I heard his footsteps disappear up the steps and slam the door behind him, and I jumped up to the bars.

"Spot!" I called. His eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth clenched, his hand grabbing onto the nearest bar to rid the pain other than screaming out.

I held onto the bars, wanting to just rip them apart so I could be closer to him. I wanted to put my hand is his so I could feel the pain he was feeling.

"Yeah," he answered, his speech faltering by the pain.

"Spot," I whispered, so close to tears that he must have heard me. He got up and stumbled over to me, his hands tightening their grip on the bars just below my hands.

I felt immensely vulnerable as tears ran down my cheeks, biting my bottom lip as to try and stop them before I started to weep.

"It's a'ight, I'm fine," he persisted, sliding his hands up on the bars so they touched mine. I shivered and blinked at him.

"I wanna get outta here," I told him, in between gasps and tears. "I'm scared."

His hands moved to completely cover mine, his eyes not moving from mine.

"Listen ta me. Everything'll be fine. B'lieve me. Jist get some sleep, ok?

"I can't sleep now," I whispered, looking down at the cold, gray floor.

"Why?" He asked.

"It's too cold," I said, still talking in just a whisper.

"Don' worry. I'll stay up an' make sure nothin' happens to ya."

My eyebrows furrowed together. "But you gotta sleep too."

He shook his head. "Not tonight. I'm too awake, anyways. Jist rest."

I slowly walked back to where my sleeping spot was and curled up into a ball, my long wavy brown hair brushing against my eyelashes, and I shivered. I saw him get up from his spot and pick up something.

"Here, take this," he said, feeding it through the bars. I could just reach it from where I was laying down.

"What is it?" I asked.

"My favorite shirt," he answered. "Keep it."

I smiled and lay back down into the hay, covered in the cream plaid that I imagined would keep me warm for many more cold, long nights.


	2. These Walls

"Wake up," I said, throwing a crumpled piece of paper at him. It hit him in the eye and he flinched uncomfortably.

"What?" He asked, his eyes still shut.

"Why'd ya fall asleep when ya said you'd stay up?" I asked, angry that something could have happened during the night.

"What does 'dat mattah when ya fell asleep?" He asked.

"'Cause ya said ya would."

Spot turned over and said carelessly, "I always lie."

"Were ya lyin' when ya said I was pretty?" I asked, coming over to the bars between our cells.

"No," he mumbled.

"Well ya caught me on a bad day," I informed him.

"'Den I wanna see ya on a good day," he said, sounding suggestive. I could just imagine that signature smirk forming on his face.

"Maybe ya will, when I get outta here," I answered. There was a moment of silence before one of us spoke up. And it was Spot.

"Why'd ya bleed on that paper?" He asked, getting up and stretching.

I sighed. "Why not?"

"'Dat ain't what I asked ya," he replied smartly.

"It needed some sort a decoration," I told him. He didn't answer. "Ey Spot?"

He raised his head to look at me, and the whites of his eyes shone in the light.

"D'ya really lie all the time?"

Spot blinked at me, as if he had to think about it. "No."

"Were ya lyin' right there?" I asked.

"Maybe," he smirked.

I sighed frustratingly. "How can I tell?"

"'Cause I was lyin' 'dis mornin' when I said it."

My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "'Den why'd you say it?"

"'Cause I wanted ya ta stop talkin'."

"Why?"

Spot grinned. "'Cause I was tryin' ta sleep."

"But you weren't supposed ta be sleepin'. You'se were s'posed ta be watchin' me," I challenged.

"I was, but I felt like a stalker after three hours of watchin' ya. Not 'dat I didn't have a great time doin' it." I was surprised that I didn't hold in my laugh as I normally would. Something about him made me at ease, but I was sort-of nervous at the same time.

"So if I asked ya how old ya are, what would ya say?" He asked, walking over to the bars where I was sitting.

"I'd say," I paused, matching his sexy stare. "Too young for the likes a you."

He smirked, then returned his serious look. "Nah, really."

"Jist turned eighteen," I answered, hoping he wasn't either thirteen for twenty-four. "You?"

"Same," he replied. "Been for a while."

"So does 'dat make ya older an' wiser?" I asked, resting my chin on my arm.

"Nah, jist older."

When lunch came, we stayed in the same place, and did not move from those bars until the sun went down. We talked about everything – and I mean everything. We talked about the best newspapers, the best headlines, selling spots, old lovers, our hopes and dreams.

"What's ya real name?" I asked, my eyes feeling exposed as they watched his ever so closely.

"Patrick. Only way I know 'dat is 'cause it's on my birth certificate. What's yours?"

"Nell."

"Nell…" Spot said, as though he was expecting more.

"Nell Fallon."

Spot nodded slowly and took a small bite of his bread, and I watched him carefully.

"Is it ok to eat?" I asked. He nodded, taking another bite and offering the rest to me, but I passed.

"Spot?" I asked, and he looked at me quizzically.

"When d'you think I'll get outta here?"

He sighed deeply and put his bread down. "Either when 'dey decide ta release ya or ya find a way out."

I looked at the dirty ground, picking at it angrily.

"It ain't so bad once ya get used to it," Spot said, leaning back with his arms behind his head.

"What if I never get used to it?" I asked quietly. I figured he wouldn't know what to say, but I was wrong.

"'Den I might hafta feed ya ta the rats," he joked.

I didn't answer for a while, because I was thinking.

"How do I get them ta get me outta here?"

"Trust me; I know Link like a bruddah. An' if he knows you'se, he knows 'dat this ain't the right place for ya. He'll come an' get ya outta here."

"What about you?" I asked, a little too soon that I felt embarrassed.

He looked at me, then back up at the ceiling. "Don't worry 'bout me."

"Why not?" I asked. He looked at me like no one had ever asked him that before.

"I'm Spot Conlon. Ya think I can't take a few months in jail?" He smirked.

"Well why can't ya come wid' me?" I asked.

"I would if I could, kid," he said serenely, and I grimaced inwardly when hearing him call me 'kid'. "But it's too dangerous. I know they'd find me if we escaped together. An' I don' wanna get you'se in trouble. You're too good fa jail."

I felt tears sting in my eyes as I whispered, "so are you."

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I woke up the next morning when I heard something being thrown on the floor. I nearly jumped up and looked around, and at first saw nothing. However, when I looked up I saw that Dice, a Queens newsie was throwing pebbles at the ground from outside, and the window was wide open.

"Ey, Twiggy, you in here?" He whispered a bit too loudly.

"Right here," I said, running as far as I could get before the bars got in my way. He quickly looked around, climbed through the window and placed his toothpick securely in the lock, and opened it.

"Somedin's gotta be said fa this bad security," he laughed. I paused before climbing out the window after Dice, and he turned back to look at me.

"C'mon," he whispered, holding out his hand. "Hold on a sec." I slowly walked over towards Spot's cell, hoping to God he'd be awake. I smiled to myself as I saw him rustle the tiniest bit in the hay.

"Spot?" I whispered, holding onto the bars to his cell. When he looked up, he had this weird look on his face. It was a combination of sadness and relief.

"You're getting' out, huh?" He asked.

I couldn't be brave any longer. I felt myself on the verge of tears when I looked at him, only a foot away from me, him clinging onto the bars as though it were his life he was holding onto.

"Spot…" I whispered, the tears starting to pour down my cheeks. He lowered his hands on the bars to put them on mine, finding a deeper gaze in my eyes.

"Don't say anything. You're gonna be a'ight."

I looked down. "It's not me I'm worried 'bout."

"Twiggy –"

"I'll come back for you," I whispered, our foreheads almost touching, forbidden by the cold metal bars.

"No, don't –"

"I will," I promised, the last of my tears taking their course down my face.

"You lyin'?" He asked, lowering his head to look into my eyes.

I shook my head, biting my quivering bottom lip. "Never."

His grip on my hand tightened, and I matched his gaze. "Don't forget about me."

I smiled, my eyes still damp. "I couldn't if I tried."


	3. Those Crimson Tears

Dice and I made it back to Queens in about fifteen minutes – we sprinted until our lungs could no longer function and we were hunched over, holding our stomachs – but it didn't matter, because we had escaped. Without Spot.

The boys were all glad to see me; I think they missed having a girl around – you know how the presence of one girl can make the whole place smell feminine. I missed them all too. I became really close with Raisin – the youngest newsie in Queens. He was almost ten, and a real sweetheart. On occasion he would pretend to be a brave fighter with a metal sword, and I was his fair maiden and pretend-fight Link. And I thought it terribly sad that he never knew his mother – in many ways, I felt like I was the replacement for her.

He gave me a big hug when I returned, and Dice told me to stay inside just in case someone would come looking for me if they had noticed I escaped right away. He and Link guarded the premises while I lay down for a while. It had been a while since I had slept in a real bed. But the boys didn't let me sleep. Raisin, Jet and Trouble, who were ten and eleven, poked me and piled on the bed.

"So is Spot Conlon really dangerous?" He asked, his eyes wide like a little bullfrog.

"Did he cut ya?" Jet, the same age as Raisin, asked excitedly.

"Yes and no," I laughed, sitting up.

"Was he really in the cell next ta ya? 'Dat's what Dice told us," Raisin said.

"Yeah, he was."

"What's he like?" Trouble asked.

"Well," I started, seeing how badly I could frighten them. "He's 'da most ferocious 'a all newsies in New York. See, 'dere was 'dis rat in the cell. 'A course, I wasn't scared of it at all, but when Spot saw it…." the boys stared at me, waiting wide-eyed.

"What'd he do?" Jet whispered anxiously.

"He snuck over towards it and…" They were leaning in closer by now.

"KILLED IT!" They jumped up, nearly hitting their heads on the top of the bunk bed. "With his own bare hands!" I finished, smirking at them .

"No way! Wait'll we tell Link!" Raisin exclaimed, running off. I lay back with my hands behind my head, but I could not sleep if I life depended on it.

When the bunkroom was cleared out, I wanted to join the fun outside, so I quietly snuck out the front, where Link and Dice were having a cigarette.

"Ey, Twiggy, get back inside," Dice whispered. "Ya dunno who's watchin', a'ight?"

I disregarded anything he said, because what I had to say was much more important. "We gotta go get Spot," I said urgently. Link rolled his eyes.

"D'ya know how hard it is ta catch Spot Conlon once? Almost impossible. An' if he escapes, trust me; 'dey'll make sure dey'se find 'im. If we do it, we'se is gonna hafta wait a while."

"Well, can ya talk to 'da guys in Brooklyn?" I asked.

Link laughed and shook his head. "'Dey don' have 'da brains ta get 'im outta jail. babe," he said. "'Dey don' even have the right 'quiptment."

I sighed and looked him straight in the eye. "I told 'im I was gonna get 'im outta there, an' I will. I don't care if I gotta do it myself."

"I know ya would," Link replied, with a small smile on his face, seeming intrigued that I would actually be that loyal to keep my promise. "But it's too risky ta do it after we jist got you'se out, ya know what I'm sayin'?" He explained, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"You'se is betrayin' 'im," I spat, running to the back door into the empty, and now dark lodging house. I rummaged in my things and hidden beneath everything was my silver blade of forgiveness, begging to be reintroduced to my skin. Yes, it had been a while. But this comfort was too great to pass up – the satisfaction of watching those crimson tears drip from your eyes to the floor, and nothing can stop you. Not yourself, not anything. You will start to know the cold tile floor like the back of your hand, and will retrace the creases like the scars left on your skin. And you will do it all and feel nothing. It will become invisible just as you are to everyone else.

That's what I felt. Before I passed out, anyway. It must have been a long fucking time before anyone found me, because my blood had filled up the creases and cracks in the tile floor, my wrists feeling like logs on a chopping block. My eyes could barely open – they felt gooey as thought the tears kept coming out but had no place to go. There's never a place to go.

It was a lucky thing that Patch found me – anyone else would have died from shock. No, he watched his mother die as her face turned white, her hands writhing with the noose – it seemed that for him, watching someone suffer so gruesomely was like riding a bike.

I felt horrible making him have a déjà vu, and I knew it was my fault because I saw the terrified little boy in his eyes, even though he had lived all of seventeen years. He had seen many things in his short life, and all of them he digested as calmly as the rest. I tried to make this seem like an accident – that somehow when I was cutting up my apple, my wrists got in the way, and the knife fell in identical horizontal stripes on each arm – so weird how that happened, isn't it? But I knew he wouldn't but it; he had seen too much to know it wasn't an accident.

I knew he would ask me why as he cleaned and bandaged me up, me in only my underclothes – he barely noticed. And I spilled my secret to him, begging him to help me.

"Be patient," he said, wrapping the white cloth around my wrists and fastening them gently. "And you'll see him again. I promise." Patch was somehow gentler than the other newsies. He never seemed to smell or burp like boys always do. He never made dirty jokes or acted immature. He was a perfect piece on a pedestal and had a manner none of the others could match. Patch saw through my plea that day – I was almost positive he knew what really went on in those two jail cells; sharing secrets, stories, strong hands covering weak ones on those metal bars, promising one day there would be no bars, and nothing, not even a piece of metal, to stand between them.

But all of this was, to me anyway, unsaid. Spot was tragic; lost. But somehow, he knew exactly who he was. He only wore is feelings – but not often spoke of them. Perhaps it was part of his past to forget about this part of intimacy – perhaps he did not yet want to be intimate – emotionally or physically – with me.


	4. Promise What You Will

_Dear Spot, _

_I know that you will never get this letter. One, because I will never send it, and two, because I realize I may never see you again. I know I promised I would come and get you, but the situation doesn't seem to be on our side. I think you know what I'm talking about. But I need to tell you something, Spot. Last night when I reached for that blade, it was for you. I felt my anxiety rain to the floor in red droplets, creating a pattern on the floor tiles which, if read closely, will spell out my feelings for you. You can see everything on that floor; the pain, the excitement, the longing. And I left it all for you, but you never saw any of it. Nothing is as honest as it is when I'm with you. I can't taste the tang of life in the air as I could when you were around, nor can I find a reason to live day by day with an unlived life. I will find you as long as those bars claim you, and then I will claim you myself._

_Twiggy_

I could only bring myself to put it in en envelope underneath my clothes, knowing that he (or anyone else) would never find it, but somehow I felt that I had written in ink on his heart, and he had felt every word. I put myself to bed after that, and Patch came up shortly after to check up on me. _I kept those bandages wrapped for you, Spot. _And it only took me a few minutes of crying into my white pillow before falling asleep.

During different times of the night, I could hear boys going in and out, seeing my bandaged up wrists and asked about me. Patch would take them aside, whisper, and my squinted open eyes I could make out sadness and disbelief on every boys' face, especially the ones that Link asked to mop up the blood that stained my love for Spot. My stomach felt queasy when I thought about Spot sleeping on that disgraceful bed of hay, sharing foot with the rats and missing contact with anything that moved or talked. And it dawned on me that I had abandoned him.

I dragged myself out of bed in my pale blue nightdress; baby doll cut and making me look like a gaunt mental hospital runaway with bandages up my wrists. The boys were just beginning to go to bed, but all the lights were still on. I ran around the lodging house until I came upon Dice.

"I'm freein' Spot," I informed him, holding my hand out. "I'll just be needin' a toothpick." Dice looked amused. "Jist help me. Please." Just as he reached into his pocket and held it out in front of me, Link grabbed it.

"You'se ain't goin' tonight," Link told me, doing a once-over, not forgetting to look at my bandages. "Go back ta bed," he said, walking back to the lodging house. I could tell by the way that he didn't watch to make sure that I was going back inside that he had had a long day and wasn't up for watching out for anybody. So I grabbed the toothpick and ran like the wind to the Jailhouse, climbing through the same window that Dice did, and at first I struggled to even open the window.

But eventually, and without making too much noise, I got the window open. Spot immediately jolted, and his eyes widened when he saw me.

"Twiggy?" He whispered loudly, running over to the end of his cell nearest the window. "What are ya doin' here?" He asked, as though he thought he'd never see me again.

"Gettin' ya outta here," I said, noticing that a boy around his age had taken the cell I was in before.

"Twiggy…. if they catch you in here – what's 'dat on your arms?" His eyebrows creased together, then looking back at me uneasily.

"Oh, this?" I brushed it off. "Nothin', I was jist playin' wid' 'dis cat on cedar street durin' work an' it scratched me."

I could tell Spot didn't believe me, but I knew here wasn't any place to have a decent conversation. I took the toothpick out of my mouth and as silently as I could, picked the lock and slid open the door.

"Told ya I'd come back," I smirked. Spot still looked bothered about the bandages, and he kept his eyes off of me as we both escaped out the window.

We ran a few blocks, not passing anyone, seeing as it was about midnight. But after a while, Spot pulled me back in an alleyway.

"What's goin' on?" He asked. "What happened?"

I looked at him, and I could tell my eyes looked troubled. "I told ya. It was nothin'."

He let out a saddened chuckle, then stared at the ground. "I ain't goin' any further 'till you tell me the truth."

I smirked playfully at him. "So it's ok for you to lie but it ain't ok for me?"

But he didn't look amused. "Jist tell me."

I came towards him a little more, my mouth aimed up at his ear. "Not yet," I whispered. He looked more disappointed than I had ever seen him, but he seemed too troubled to keep asking. But when we both remembered that we were on the run, we continued at our previous pace until we got to the Queens Lodging House.

"Well, uh," Spot stuttered, and I felt as though for the first time, things had been awkward between us. "I guess 'dis is your stop."

I nodded slowly, my head facing the ground. "Spot… why don't ya come wid' me?" I asked, reaching his gaze that was off in the distance.

"'Cuz I don' wanna get you'se caught," he whispered, looking around his surroundings. "It's too dangerous. Some other night though, ok? I promise."

"You lie," I reminded him, sulking.

"But I lied about lying," he smirked, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear.

"You still lied."

He grinned lazily, one side higher than the other. "Guess you're right." But his smile quickly disappeared when he realized that we could never, ever be together. There was always something to separate us.


	5. Sweet Illusions

When I returned to the lodging house, most of the lights were out except for Link's and Dice's rooms, so I slipped in to tell them that I had gotten Spot out. I knew they didn't agree with my decision, but I promised him I'd be back, and ever since I made that promise, I intended to keep it.

I walked into Link's room slowly and he was just sitting on his bed.

"Ey, what happened?"

"Got him out," I answered, smiling.

"Did anyone catch ya?"

"Nope." He nodded slowly.

"You an' Conlon ain't…"

"Ain't what?" I asked, knowing perfectly well what he was talking about.

"Y'know… together…. or anythin'."

"No," I answered, but not very convincingly. "Why?" I asked warily.

"Well, I've seen the way Conlon goes through women. I mean, he's a great guy an' all, an' I suspect he treats ya well. I jist don't want ya ta get hurt."

I smiled. "That's sweet of ya, but we aren't together."

My heart broke just saying that. It felt like I was denying every single I felt for him, but I couldn't. I didn't know if he felt them back.

The day went by slowly, selling pape after pape, until later that day we received word from Brooklyn that Snyder was looking for Spot. It was lucky that he searched the lodging house when Spot was taking a bath in the dock so he could hide under the pier, but everyone knew he'd come back to find him.

We also received word that we should be on a look out for a "petite, bony-looking girl with long, wavy, dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes." So Link and Spot organized for us to switch places. I'd live in the Brooklyn lodging house and Spot would come to Queens. That way he wouldn't be looking for the right person in the right place. And that's the best we could do. But I couldn't argue; I'd have my own room – Spot's room.

Link told me that at midnight we'd move, and Spot said that Mac, the second-most famous newsie in Brooklyn (after Spot, of course) would keep a close eye on me. I frantically packed my things when the clock in the common room read 11:47. The last item to be thrown in my tiny suitcase was the plaid button-down that Spot had given me the first night in jail. I pressed it against my heart, and took in the scent that I remembered so vividly from the other side of the bars.

"I guess we're movin' now," Spot murmured, not seeming too thrilled.

"Yeah," I agreed, matching his enthusiasm.

"Ey Twiggy?" He asked so softly I almost jumped from excitement.

"Yeah?"

"Do I still have 'da invitation ta sleep over?" He smirked.

I moved a bit closer to him, curling one side of my mouth up. "Permission still granted."

"Good, 'cause y'know it's somethin' I'll be takin' advantage of." He looked down at my bandaged wrists and sighed heavily. "When is ya gonna tell me what happened ta your wrists?"

"Not tonight," I whispered. I saw a slight movement in his body as he shivered from the sensation.

"What if I already know?" He presumed.

"'Den ya wouldn't be askin' me."

"What if I jist wanted ya ta think 'dat I din't know?"

"Impossible," I answered back with a chuckle.

"How?" He smirked at me, looking all dark and mysterious in the moonlight.

"'Cuz you ain't 'dat smart."

I couldn't sleep a wink knowing I was in Spot's bed and could smell his musky scent. I wondered what it felt like to have his skin on mine, what he slept in, if he stayed awake at night to frighten himself by staring at the dark room in the vague hours of the night as I did.

I imagined him, lying down here clad in that tight white underwear those newsboys all wore, those red suspenders thrown carelessly on the ground after a long day, his pants crumpled in a pile on the floor underneath his gold-tipped cane. And he stares up at the ceiling thinking all sorts of obscure things, like trees that have lost their leaves and long, black veils, mourning at the loss of meaning. He would glide that toned and tanned arm along the silver elation of the swiss army knife that every boy has, hopelessly and boyishly ridding himself of his pain.

I could see it. I could see all of it so clearly in my mind, and it hurt me more knowing that I caused it. Yes, I wrote the letter first. He answered back but I began it all. I suddenly felt my stomach drop and fell into a sickened sleep.

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**Spot's P.O.V**

_Dear Spot, _

_I know that you will never get this letter. One, because I will never send it, and two, because I realize I may never see you again. I know I promised I would come and get you, but the situation doesn't seem to be on our side. I think you know what I'm talking about. But I need to tell you something, Spot. Last night when I reached for that blade, it was for you. I felt my anxiety rain to the floor in red droplets, creating a pattern on the floor tiles which, if read closely, will spell out my feelings for you. You can see everything on that floor; the pain, the excitement, the longing. And I left it all for you, but you never saw any of it. Nothing is as honest as it is when I'm with you. I can't taste the tang of life in the air as I could when you were around, nor can I find a reason to live day by day with an unlived life. I will find you as long as those bars claim you, and then I will claim you myself._

_Twiggy_

I dropped the letter and let it fall to the floor and back under the bed where I had found it. And I had known all along that this was what she was hiding from me. I wanted to read her profession spelled out in her blood. I wanted to see it, not hear about it, and I wanted to be the one that bandaged her up after her torment was laid out in beautiful hysteria on the bathroom floor. But I never saw any of it.

_Dear Twiggy,_

_You lied. I did get this letter. Not because you sent it, and not because you saw me again like you said you wouldn't, but because you left it under your bed. I have never felt so close to you when being so far away, even though the closest I have ever been was not close enough. There will always be something in our way, which I cannot seem to get around or appreciate. But I saw everything. I saw it. "I love Spot" on the tile floor. It's white tile, isn't it? I read every word, every droplet, every unwritten heart. And I still feel it stinging inside of me. It was a beautiful thing what you did, but next time I want it written on my skin. _

_Love (no lie, I have just proved this),_

_Spot _


	6. Fade Into You

I woke up the next morning to the uncensored sound of paper flapping around in the breeze. I at first thought someone was trying to wake me up by waving a hot-off-the-press pape in my face, but I soon realized that there was a piece of paper closed tightly into the windowsill. I opened it and inwardly gasped when I saw that it was from Spot.

_Dear Twiggy,_

_You lied. I did get this letter. Not because you sent it, and not because you saw me again like you said you wouldn't, but because you left it under your bed. I have never felt so close to you when being so far away, even though the closest I have ever been was not close enough. There will always be something in our way, which I cannot seem to get around or appreciate. But I saw everything. I saw it. "I love Spot" on the tile floor. It's white tile, isn't it? I read every word, every droplet, every unwritten heart. And I still feel it stinging inside of me. It was a beautiful thing what you did, but next time I want it written on my skin. _

_Love (no lie, I have just proved this),_

_Spot _

My eyes watered as I weakly dropped the letter to the floor. I fell to the floor, my elbows finding support on my knees. I wept infinite, hazy tears for the tragedy he both had and had not witnessed, and felt as though the blood that showered from my skin was the same as the blood that rushed in his heart, both finding a perfect place on the bathroom floor. I was mad at Spot for finding the letter, but even more mad at myself for leaving it there for him to see. It both sickened and delighted me that he offered to be the grindstone on which I so eloquently dragged that silver blade across, but I'd never tell. He wasn't even supposed to know.

Mac reminded me that we had to work today, so I hurried down and met them outside. But since reading Spot's letter, I could barely concentrate on selling. I kept turning around every few minutes to see if he was around, which obviously he wasn't, seeing as he was now selling in Queens. But I felt through some odd circumstance he might find his way back to Brooklyn.

Spot seemed to have a way of leaving his imprint on people. You could tell if they knew Spot Conlon by the look on their faces – it was like frightened respect, and you could tell which ones had it. But they didn't know how tragically soft-hearted he was. If he didn't be careful, it could get him killed. There was so much room for interpretation with Spot. He wasn't the kind to tell you how he was feeling – but he was so intense that after a while, I just knew. He seemed so strong, so powerful and simple, but somehow I had seen him from the other side of the street; lost, sad, hopeless. And if he ended up anything like me, there'd be no way to fix him.

I wanted to go to the lodging house in Queens so badly to talk to him about his letter, but I knew he'd shrug it off as having his heart too much on his sleeve – and then he'd talk about today's headlines as if he had not seen my profession in the blood we would one day share.

I could get away with faking sick for the rest of the night – Mac didn't know me like the others did. Spot must not have told him about my little "incident", as he liked to call it. I knew he didn't want anyone to know I was sick. People didn't take these things easily – well, people other than Patch, who had also watched his dreadfully depressed mother hang herself to a tragic death. It was the kind of thing some noticed, some didn't, and if you knew about it or had one, you didn't talk about it. Some thought they could catch it, and some thought no more of us than the lucky ones that escaped straight jackets.

No matter what we were, we were always alone. No one to empathize that we, too, last night, laughed, then stared at an open window and contemplated jumping out while our breath became short and our heads started to spin. No one else to spin around in circles until you are nauseous and fall into disarray with the world around you. But it was a beautiful thing, knowing how to say "I love you" permanently without actually doing it, because I knew the aftermath of it all would stay in place, and that he would still feel it etching over his heart.

I slipped a nightdress over my head and climbed into bed, with the satisfaction of having my own room if I needed to cause mischief. But that feeling quickly vanished as I heard the window open slowly, and I jumped, clenching the sheets so tight my hands became dizzy.

"Told ya I'd take advantage of it," the slim form whispered, slipping into the window and closing it behind him. A lazy smile formed on my face as I sighed.

"Long as it ain't me you're takin' advantage of," I smirked.

Spot shrugged with a wicked look on his face. "Guess you'll find out soon."

Spot groaned in dark ecstasy as he held himself in her for the first time, his eyes held shut for fear of coming back to reality when he was not inside her. Her trembling legs tightened around an equally trembling body, the bed whispering secrets of their myriad happenings. They'd never tell the things that happened that night; the two bodies intertwining into one soul, their legs tangled up in a mess in the sheets, the beads of sweat that dripped down Spot's back as he found a way to prove himself to her. And it began to rain. A rain that neither Queens nor Brooklyn had seen in many years, the thunder shaking every foundation in the city, beginning in the bed where the two lovers lay.

"Tell me," Spot whispered, as rain fell violently along the rooftop.

I sighed, nuzzling closer to him so that I could deeper take in his scent. "You already know."

"I wanna hear you say it."

"I told you."

"I know," he said.

"No, then. When I did it. I told you."

He frowned. "What did ya tell me?"

"You know," I reminded him. "What I wrote on the floor."

"What did you write?" He asked.

"You said you saw it," I whispered.

"I did, in a way," he smirked. "I jist wanna hear you say it."


	7. On Love, In Sadness

He didn't really see it. I mean, he could imagine it. But see it? _See _was so strong a word. Spot was not there to witness it, but on countless occasions, he felt her sharp razorblade cut across his heart; unedited, unforeseen. But Spot could see it coming.

Spot could tell something about her was different; her emaciated appearance that was ethereal and frighteningly alluring. Her cheekbones spelled out sorrow and her eyes were bleak but bright. She was not like the air-headed, bubble-gum mouthed bimbos he usually went around with. No, she was boy-meets-girl chic, with one finger balancing a cigarette in her mouth like the most elegant female in her dirt-covered knickers.

Just the way she looked while leaning against a lamp post drove him crazy with an inexperienced desire. She was so effortlessly cool, so seemingly flawless that every girl Spot had dated wanted to be her. At least that's what they thought. It was a nasty mess inside that girl's head – obscure thoughts of nature's complexity and how it revolved around her. She though often of cobblestone paths, bleeding hearts, and falling leaves gathering around her feet. There was never enough time.

No one else saw what she saw. She saw everything dark and lonely that no one dared to look for – but she was the only one brave enough. It didn't matter if she was sick – and everyone knew she was – just look at how those charcoal-lined saucer eyes stare lifelessly back at you. But to say it was her fault would be a dangerous lie. She didn't know quite who to blame. Perhaps it was the odd twist of nature that developed the sickness in her, or maybe it was love eating away at her soul.

She woke up in Spot's arms, those gray smudged eyes with nothing to tell but what she felt. But nothing would do it justice; no word, not a single word, could describe her love for him. It was the unspoken truth that neither of them wanted to face, yet they knew that they had to. But when he looked at her that way, as though she was the only woman in the world who could ever satisfy him, she would not deny it.

Spot had every intention of sneaking out of the window via the fire escape, however, when he saw the Brooklyn newsies all out selling papes, he decided to go out the regular way instead. Twiggy got up with him, pulling on a heavy sweater on from off the floor as she walked towards the bedroom door behind him. Spot froze when he saw a familiar face in the main bunkroom.

Spot just stood there wide-eyed, probably assuming that _all _the newsies were out selling papes.

"Conlon? What're ya doin' here?" Mac asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh… jist some unfinished business," Spot answered distractedly, trying to straighten out his crinkled clothes that had been, until recently, crumpled in a ball on the floor.

"Well, are ya done yet?"

Spot smirked as if to say _yes, thank you, and it was wonderful. _

But before he completely left the lodging house, I quickly pulled him in.

"How much longer are they gonna keep ya there?" I asked, the look on my eyes seeming to sadden him.

He shrugged, his lips pouting the slightest bit. "I dunno. Till they forget about me, I guess."

"Well why can't I jist go back ta Queens wid' you?" I asked innocently, trying to get him to say yes.

"Baby, y'know you can't."

I exhaled frustratingly. "Why not?"

"'Cause y'know it's dangerous."

I shook my head in disagreement. "'Dey don't care 'bout me. They're tryin' ta find you."

"'Dat don't mattah none. If they find you, 'dey'se is gonna lock you up again."

I didn't say anything for a while, and I broke from his gaze.

"Ya know I'd let ya if ya could," he whispered, trying to get me to look at him, but I didn't give in. He sighed and rolled up his sleeve to reveal two identical gashes on his wrist, and I gasped.

"Spot…" I trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Ya see 'dis?" He asked, finally getting me to look him in the eye.

"Yeah."

"'Dat was for you." He suddenly seemed angry when he said this.

"Spot, I didn't know you –"

"One is you an' one is me. See how nothin' else matters? Jist two, an' 'dat's it. See what I'm sayin'?"

"Spot, you ain't makin' any sense."

"Nell, when 'dis is all over, we won't hafta hide no more." He softly spoke into my hair.

I pulled myself closer to him and whispered in his ear. "When will it all be over?"

"Soon, baby."


	8. Cold Roses

I heard from Link that Spot never returned to the Queens lodging house last night. He told me that Spot gave him a letter to give to me, and that he had left it unopened like Spot told him to. When I turned it over, I saw that the letter was sealed with his blood, and I regretted ever letting him find out my dirty secret.

_Dear Nell,_

_I have never ached for anyone the way I ache for you. It's destroying me. Every inch of you that I touch leads me here; lost, lonely, dissatisfied with the walls that have been put up between us. I can't tell you where I am, or where I am going, because I know that out of pure, affectionate bravery you would try to find me. I'm not asking you to stop loving me, or love me more, as I know you could not do either. But I ask for both of our safety not to come find me. I know you love me, but you cannot save me. Not this time. _

_Love, _

_Spot_

_P.S. Keep the shirt. I figured I'd never get it back. _

I found myself crumpling the letter up when I finished with it, the blood from his own body sticking to my fingers as I silently cursed at him for being so careless. But I knew it was me who started everything.

It was ridiculous that it was still light out; it seemed as though because of my own persuaded anguish it should have been night, when everything dark and distorted makes its mark on those Brooklyn streets. But it did not rain, nor did dusk come any earlier that night. I searched for him during daylight and dusk, not even bothering to sell.

I searched everywhere that night for him, and found him nowhere. I had expected him to be sitting perhaps beneath those shady trees in the cool green grass, or with his legs hanging off a bridge as he sat with his hands supporting his chin. But he wasn't on the Brooklyn bridge, nor swinging his legs from the trees like a young man who refuses to grow up. Spot had already decided what he was going to be for the rest of his life, and that was a child.

Everyone knew he could take care of himself; that wasn't a question. But it was the way his sleepy eyes looked when he woke up in the morning, the way he grunted when someone asked to talk about emotions. He would always resort to building his red lego castles instead of finding a place for himself in the real world. But he knew this real world; he had lived in it ever since his mother had renounced him as her own, leaving him alone to grow into a man.

As brave as he was, no one understood the reason behind that white gauze that covered all of his fears. Yet no one dared to ask. They had seen the way he looked at her, that delicate pixie of a girl. They never wondered what he saw in her, with her wispy hair and bony arms. Indeed she was beautiful, and everything he had ever wanted to be he saw in her. It was she that caused the breakage, she that caused him to question everything he had ever settled for. And without any further questions he submitted to her, his body and soul confused that he had still belonged to himself. And in a way, he did not. In a way, a very significant way, he had lost himself to her.

Twiggy had been told that Spot intended not to return. For her safety, or for his own, she wondered? Nothing was clear anymore; not even the brightness of the morning sky had meant anything to her after he put his mark on her. Nothing seemed to match up the way it used to.

Everyone silently wondered what the great Spot Conlon could be up to. But only Twiggy had the full effect of worry as she had known things about that boy that no one had. In a way, that brought them closer together; having a little secret that could make or break them. Knowing what it was, it would probably be the end of them.

After all, what would posses a girl to write the name of her beloved in blood where everyone could see it? What would posses a boy with such frank intelligence to follow in her quiet footsteps? She had to have been some sort of enchantress, some sort of inevitably beautiful creature that no one – not even Spot Conlon – could touch.

Through her Spot became something every man feared; unable to tell a rotted apple from a ripe one. A man who lived for a woman's caresses, weakened by her hair flowing onto his chest while they slept. He was well aware that he had become his own worst nightmare, unable to tell real from a daydream, for she was the best dream he had ever woke up with. But he would never really discover the truth about her

Spot never returned the next morning, or afternoon, or night. And by that time, I knew he was fixed on getting away and staying there for both of our safety. But I wasn't sure he could take care of himself anymore. He was a wreck in one lazily pieced-together puzzle that no one could ever put together for good. I never expected to fix him; no, I knew there was no way.

All I wanted to do was tell him that the rat ate his bread. And somehow, somewhere along the way, it grew into more. Something that neither of us planned. I ran through my mind all the places he could be, leaving out the bridge and the tree that I imagined he had been many a time before, his tanned legs swinging freely in the cool breeze.

I had worried only for a second, realizing that no one could have hurt him. The great Spot Conlon was too good with a slingshot to be hurt, but where had he gone? Had he gone to another lodging house in another city? Had he taken off without saying good-bye? If the last thing he said to me was "soon, baby," how could he have left without giving it another chance when all the hope that was kept for us was held between his hands?

All I wanted to do was tell him that the rat ate his bread.


	9. Return To Me

His body was discovered floating in the river, face up. Link was the first to find him, his cold, white hands folded together and his turned-up nose an icy blue tint. He gasped, at first, at first believing Spot to be dead. I looked upon him, feeling the cuts from his arms in mine, his blood starting to run through my veins. A harsh and surprisingly cold wind wafted across my face as tears stung in my eyelids. Link saw me staring at him, wide-eyed, seemingly too innocent for such a sight. Fearlessly he waded into the water, Dice and Patch both holding me back my each taking an arm. I stood there helplessly while I watched Link pull his limp body out of the water, his face gravely luminous.

"He's a'ight," Link reassured me, seeming fearful himself. He placed one thumb over the other, his fingers interlocking while he pressed firmly down on Spot's chest, bare where his shirt was unbuttoned. A violent cough came from Spot's mouth and Link turned him on his stomach quickly so that the water could spill out of his mouth.

"Jesus, Conlon," Link sighed heavily, wiping sweat off his forehead. "What the hell happened?"

Spot could only look at me in shame. I had seen those wrists when he turned over to cough, and I made it ok by doing it myself. He knew I saw them, he knew exactly that look in my eye because he had seen it many times before. I didn't mind having a secret, but I didn't want a secret so dangerous. I almost made myself believe that someday he would end his own life.

Link, Dice and Patch returned back to the lodging house to let Spot and I be alone. For a while, he avoided looking at me for a while, his cheeks rosy and cold. He started to shiver uncontrollably until he grabbed his arms and clenched his teeth together.

"Why'd ya do 'dis, Spot?" I asked him. He didn't respond for a while, and I thought that was because he was too shaken to take in anything.

"I dunno," he answered too simply, which really angered me.

"Spot," I said, not knowing what to say. "Ya can't do 'dis no more."

"Do what?" He asked, sounding annoyed.

"This!" I exclaimed, matching his heated tone. "If ya ain't gonna succeed in killin' yourself 'den don't even try!" When I saw the look on his face I suddenly wished I didn't say anything.

"Next time I'll try harder," he murmured coldly.

I shook my head. "No, 'dat ain't what I meant."

He glared at me in sarcasm. "Ya sure?"

"What the fuck, Spot?" I yelled, not knowing what the hell happened to cause such a sudden change in mood. "Ya think I wanted ya ta die?"

"Maybe," he answered emotionlessly.

"Why are you gettin' mad at _me_?"

He scowled. "You got me inta 'dis."

I rolled my eyes. "Inta _what_?"

"Runnin' away from everything."

"A'ight," I sighed, "maybe. But I didn't make ya try ta kill yourself."

But Spot denied it. "I wasn't tryin' ta kill myself, a'ight?"

"'Den what were ya doin'? Takin' a bath?"

My remark seemed to get to him even more.

"I was tryin' ta forget you."

A lump formed in my throat and suddenly I felt like I couldn't breathe. I knew I caused all of this, but I never asked him to do anything he didn't want to. I hinted at him to take a chance for me, but never forced it. We both made our decisions knowing fully well that what we were doing was a tragedy, yet we didn't seem to care.

"Fine. I'll make it easy for ya."

I think that was the first time that anyone, ever, had walked away from Spot Conlon.

But I forgot him that night. At least, like him, I had tried.

But it wasn't that easy. I had again spelled out his name in blood; quietly, symbolically, yet no one else could see it. Over and over I moaned his name and knowing that he wouldn't walk through that bathroom door, and yet somehow I found myself on my knees begging to God for him to be there. And all it got me was lying on the cold tile; alone, disappointed, disgraceful. I thought I had known better.

He kept me alive in a way. It wasn't so much that I lived to see his face every day but that I couldn't stand to sleep without him. Everything seemed to fade around what we had lost and what would never again be found. The circle of smoke dancing around his face as he exhaled a cigarette plagued my mind and never once left that night, our never-ending days of sleepless nights when we both counted shadows in our unshared beds.

He said he had lived for me and would die for me too, if that's what was meant in his life, but somehow I didn't believe it. I thought he'd die for me as soon as he could, and I was right. I just didn't know that it would be tonight. I didn't know such pain could transfer to a lover, nor did I ever want it to. I took the kind of pain most people cower away from and don't take enough chance to experience. I never wanted him to feel any of it but I guess it was only predictable that somehow I would end up ruin his tragic life.

White bandages covered my arms that were whiter than the snow we watched flurry outside when we made love. But it was outside where it was snowing then; we had felt warm in our hearts and for a while that was alright. But soon we felt the cold winter breeze come through and knew that something was going to change. It was something we weren't ready for. We kept dreading this day of finally admitting that we knew we could never be together.

I had no idea what I was doing to myself then. everything seemed to escape my mind as soon as it made sense, then disappeared with crimson drops to the floor. I regretted nothing but knowing that last night he had done the same thing and I wasn't there to save him. My despair for us was blacker than the darkest night of winter and I felt that nothing could change our past.

The image of Spot floating down that lonely river, hands folded over his slim stomach would not leave my mind. And later, I would sit in Spot's windowsill, legs curled up to my chest in nothing but his shirt, trying to figure out if any of the tiny looking people down below on the Brooklyn streets was him. There were scarcely any people out – it was two in the morning – but somehow I knew, I definitely knew that Spot would return to me.


	10. Til The Seas Run Dry

I finally surrendered to my bed, Spot's bed, and barely made it to sleep until I heard the creaky window open and saw a slight shape slip through. I sat up, trying to make out is face, but I knew exactly who it was. He looked hopelessly forlorn as though he had been thinking about what he said all night. I got up and went over to him, searching his eyes for some sort of explanation. When he finally spoke, his voice wavered weakly.

"I jist can't quit you," he said, lowering his head to my shoulder and sobbing unrestrictedly.

"Baby," I whispered in his ear, "I don't want you to." I was starting to cry now too as I nuzzled my nose against his warm ear. His arms gripped strongly around me as if he had made a final decision that he was never going to let me go. And I wouldn't let him. He lifted up his head and his blue eyes were clearer than ever, lightly tinted with pink.

"Is 'dat a lie?" I asked softly.

He shook his head mournfully. "I wish. But since I can't forget ya, I guess I should do the best I can ta remember ya."

Spot smirked as his eyes pierced mine, lifting me up and placing me back on my bed; his bed. He planted several light kisses on my neck, unbuttoning his cream plaid shirt from my shoulders, moving his head down slowly to kiss my breasts. I let out a relieving sigh and ran my cold hands down the toned expanse of his back. As he was balancing himself on top of me, his gashed wrists came into my view and I could do nothing but keep my eyes on them

"What's wrong, baby?" He asked, his voice muffled in my hair. My eyes moved back over to his wrists, and he let out a sigh and climbed off of me to sit. I slowly got up, aware that my entire body could be seen, only to him, in the moonlight. I picked up the razor that I had kept well hidden because of intruders and held it sullenly in my hands. I sat back on the bed next to him, removing all of his clothing slowly and erotically.

When his clothes had become only a crumpled pile on the floor, I picked up the blade on the soft bed and glided it over my wrist, feeling the stinging pleasure that I had so missed before. Spot's eyes flickered over the scarlet drops that had soon appeared, then held out his own wrist.

"I'm yours," Spot whispered, nuzzling close to me, gently taking the razor out of my hand for his own use, and copied the same design on his own skin. He lay on top of me, filling me up on the inside, our wrists pressed helplessly together and our hands intertwined, knuckles white as they clenched.

He moaned into my mouth as he became harder inside of me, now thrusting deeper, and I had never felt such painful ecstasy. My legs were wrapped around his waist, a nonverbal way of telling him to never let me go. When he leaned into my collarbone I nipped at his ear, then sucking it softly, and a louder moan escaped from his lips.

He pressed his wrists harder against mine as is climax rose, my legs tightening as much they could around his center, gasping for air as we moved together in one rhythm, one body, until I felt a fire where he was thrusting in and out of me, his breath quickening and becoming even more stiff inside me. After a couple seconds as we rose and fell together he moaned so sweetly in my ear, thrusting harder until everything became fuzzy with our stifled breaths, heaving sighs and crimson wrists, until his eyes clenched tightly, slowing down his movements. As he fell from sweet rapture, he rested his warm body against mine until our blood ran together as one body.

I woke up, my throbbing wrist resting on Spot's stomach. I moved it ever so slightly and winced as I did so, and Spot let out a barely audible sigh.

"Spot," I whispered, running a free hand through his hair. He grunted.

"Spot," I said again, this time a little louder. He grunted.

"Spot!" I yelled. Loud grunt.

"We gotta sell today," I reminded him. He sat up, his slashed wrist becoming visible. I took a deep breath.

"What happened last night?" I asked, laying back down. Spot twirled a piece of my hair with his finger.

"Everything."

There was a moment when we both went silent, then he sighed as if he had something to say.

"Y'know ya can't tell anyone 'bout us, right?"

My eyebrows furrowed together as I examined him closely.

"What?" Spot didn't answer.

"Everyone already knows, Spot."

"_What?_"

"I didn't tell them anything, but I went back to get you out. They just know."

He rubbed his forehead with intense frustration, then got up to get dressed.

"Where are ya goin'?" I asked, getting up to slip my nightdress over my head.

"Ta fix this."

I moved closer to him and put my arms around his waist. He lowered his gaze to look at me.

"How are ya gonna fix this?"

He sighed as though it should have been obvious. "If everyone knows, Snyder's gonna come lookin' for ya. He knows we both escaped around the same time, an' if he don't find me he's gonna come after you."

"Snyder doesn't know where we are," I said hesitantly.

Spot put his hat on lazily. "He will. Jist trust me."

"Spot," I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him around. "What are ya gonna do?"

"Nothin', baby."

I could tell that my face wore a look of concern. I was desperate. "Jist tell me."

"D'ya love me?" He asked as if he didn't know. In case he had any doubts, I pulled him even closer to me.

I felt tears begin to form behind my eyes. "Y'know I do, Spot."

"Liar," he smirked and pulled me tight against his warm chest.


	11. Red Dust

The hours went by so slowly and it had been a long time since I saw him again. I sat upon the windowsill, my skin yellowing and the bluish vein in my left arm appearing as blue as ever. I was desperately hopeful in my short white gown soon to be reddened with the sadness I shed for him.

But since I was on house arrest by Mac, I couldn't escape to Queens to see Spot, and I wished that he would come visit me. But three days later he was here, wrapping up my wounds in thin gauze that still left them visible. But he still would not tell me of his plans. I knew he had something in mind; I mean, he always thought of something. But he kept it from me. Spot was always the kind to do what he wanted. And whatever he chose, it was sure to be drastic. That was why I was so worried. It was not so much what he would do, but how he would do it.

He came in through the fire escape, like normal, only this time I had a bittersweet feeling that this would be our last time seeing each other for a long time. I could tell because he had that look in his eyes that said, _let's enjoy this while we can. _

Our bodies once more pressed up against each other, the snow white blanket draped across our bodies and there was nothing left to say. It was as if nothing had ever happened between us. I prepared myself to let him leave to wherever it was he was going. But I made him promise one last thing.

"Don't do anything stupid, Conlon," I whispered with a tear running down my cheek.

"You're gonna make me promise somedin' like 'dat?" He asked playfully. But he took one look at me and realized that this was not the time for jokes.

"A'ight, I promise I won't do anything stupid."

It had been another three days until I heard anything Spot. Except this time, I had to hear the news from Mac. He came into my room lightly knocking, something he isn't known to do, and I stood up quickly.

"How's Spot?" I asked desperately, hoping that's what he came in to tell me. But the way his eyes drooped to the floor told me something was wrong.

"What is it?" I asked him, holding my breath. But Mac's eyes didn't move from the floor.

"Spot was arrested last night."

"_What?_"I exclaimed, hoping that if I clenched my eyes tight enough I would find myself in some other place and this wouldn't be happening.

"Why? What happened?" I asked hysterically.

"Apparently he led some rally in Queens last night. Link said it seemed like he wanted ta get caught. Somedin' 'bout promisin' ya he wouldn't do nothin' stupid, but he did it ta save ya."

I sank down to the bed. "He got himself arrested? To _save_ me?" My eyebrows crinkled together.

"There's somedin' about Conlon ya gotta understand," Mac said, sitting down on the bed next to me. "If he wants ta do somedin', he's gonna do it, no mattah how stupid it is. But 'dere's another thing 'bout 'im I know."

"What's that?" I asked, wiping a tear away from my eye.

"'Dat he'll do anything ta save the one he loves."

"But how is gettin' himself in trouble saving me?"

"'Cause Snyder was still lookin' or him, an' they were lookin' for you too, 'cause you escaped even before Conlon. But he figured if he got himself caught, they wouldn't look for you no more."

I just sat with my head in my hands, and I felt Mac lightly rub my back.

"Lissen," he sighed. "He'll come back for you."

I shook my head. "If he's broken so many promises, how do ya know 'dat? He could be gone forever an' I wouldn't have even known!"

"I know because I seen him 'round you. I stayed up wid' 'im the night ya got 'im out. He saw your wrists, an' don't you think he didn't know what ya did. He knew. I sat wid' 'im all night. I know when he's in love, 'cause he's never been before 'til now. But don't worry, a'ight? We'll figure somedin' out."

I sat at the windowsill the rest of the night, not even bothering to ponder what Spot had done. It seemed wrong to be angry with him when what he did was for me. Still I felt a burning hatred for everything that kept us apart; Snyder, the rally, the refuge. My head started to spin with fuming frustration until I shuffled around my things to find my favorite piece of metal amongst all my other belongings.

Soon I was taken away to a sleepy place where I could see where I had before written "I love you" to Spot, except this time it was fading, so I wrote it again, but this time darker. Drops of blood delicately spelled it out, and not a drop was wasted. I wanted to make sure that this time he would see it, and find his way back to me. I desperately asked him to write back, but I got no response. So more and more I reached into my skin or the answers to the questions I never understood. My breath started to catch in my chest and I couldn't breathe until every drop had reached the bathroom floor.

I was asleep for what felt like days, and when I finally awoke I was blinded by the light that came harshly through the window. There were bloodstains on my white eyelet dress, which had now lost all its innocence after what it had just seen. Mac was standing in the doorway, a doctor gingerly taking my pulse. I opened my eyes to the tragedy which I was so hoping to escape, yet again, I had failed.

He didn't hear me calling him.


	12. Note To Self: Don't Die

I woke up to the sound of muffled talking in the hallway. When my eyes opened, I saw Mac coming into the room and he closed the door slowly. I knew what was coming.

"Twiggy, ya gotta stop 'dis," he said forthrightly.

I shook my head. "Not 'til he comes back." Mac rubbed his forehead and looked at me gravely.

"He may not be comin' back."

I stared at him for a few seconds, then looked down at my wrists.

"Lissen, I'm sorry 'dat all a 'dis happened, an' I wish Spot could come back too. But… you're not in good shape. Ya need ta eat somedin'. I'm gonna go get somedin' for ya ta eat, a'ight?" I nodded slowly, my eyes in a sort of trance staring at the sterile white walls. I longed for them to be warm again like when Spot slept here.

My eyes had not moved from the gray speck on the wall until Mac had returned, holding bread and an apple. He handed me the apple, and I pushed his hand away, focusing on the sheets that I was wrapped up in.

"Twiggy, please." Mac tried to get me to look at him. "_Please_." I slowly dragged my eyes over to look at him, and took the apple. With each bite, I felt like I was letting a piece of Spot go. I would not let him be forgotten.

"'Atta girl," he smiled. It probably took me about an hour to eat the apple and bread, and someone else came in after that. Someone I didn't know. Mac came in behind him.

"Twiggy, 'dis is Noah. He's been heah for a while, but I don't think you two met." I bit my lip. Noah looked nervous.

"He's gonna get ya all cleaned up. But I gotta get ta woik. Ya gonna be a'ight?" I nodded slowly. Mac gave Noah a pat on the shoulder, and Noah approached me slowly.

"Can ya get up?" He asked as if I was stupid. I nodded and slowly got out of the covers. When I tried to stand, my weak knees wobbled and bent, but Noah caught me before I fell over.

Carefully, he held my waist and hand, leading me towards the bathroom. I felt drunk, like I was under the influence of every drug imaginable all at the same time. Nothing stayed in focus for long. He had me sit on the toilet while he ran the water for a bath. He let the water run, then wiped his hands on the back of his pants and stood in front of me awkwardly. I looked up, not knowing what I was supposed to be doing.

"A'ight, umm…" Noah looked nervous, as he walked towards me. He held out his hand, and I took it, once again standing up. When he leaned down to lift up the hem of my dress which was right above my knee, I balanced myself with my arms on his back, until he needed to lift the dress over my head, and just as it fell to the floor, Noah's eyes dropped.

"_Jesus_..." He looked at me up and down, trying to do so discreetly. I looked down and noticed that my chest bones had protruded stubbornly against my skin, and my breasts had shrunken. I was suddenly disgusted.

"So.. uh…How old are you?" He asked, helping me into the tub.

I wasn't even sure if I could speak. "Eighteen."

He smiled. "Eighteen? Me too."

"You been here long?" He asked. I shook my head.

"I lived in Manhattan before Brooklyn. Ya know Jack Kelly?" I nodded.

This was going nowhere. He obviously didn't notice that I wanted to be left alone, but Mac wouldn't have it. I was on house arrest for the past 2 weeks and had not been left unattended for the last one.

"A'ight, get in," he said gently, helping me by holding my hand. If I wasn't at this point nearly catatonic, it would have been very, very awkward.

"So you an' Conlon…" Noah said, looking away as I got into the tub. But after I didn't say anything, he looked at me again. I nodded slowly.

Noah stayed in the bathroom until I was done washing, and all I wanted was to be alone. it was awkward enough for Mac to have to feed me every day for a week, and then he assigned someone to bathe me? I didn't want any part of my body to be looked at by anyone other than Spot.

I didn't want to go back to bed, so I dressed in layers and went outside to sit by the dock. Although I would normally have been warm, I had become so thin that the softest wind felt like it was cutting against my face.

The boys came back at their usual time, but I missed how I could separate the sound of Spot's footsteps on the docks from all the others. I looked down and played with the end of my sleeve, moving it along my thumb and index finger absent-mindedly while watching the waves move slowly with the wind.

Though I heard footsteps behind me, I knew they couldn't be Spot's. I waited until they sat down to find out who it was.

"How's it goin'?" Patch asked, sitting down beside me, taking a cigarette from his pocket. When I didn't answer, he decided to try again.

"'Dere's somedin' you'se don't seem ta get."

I didn't say anything, so he continued.

"You an' Spot got somedin'…." He trailed off, and when I turned to look into his eyes he almost looked… jealous.

"Whaddaya mean?" I said softly, my voice cracking.

"He'll always come back for ya. Ya spent a day wid' 'im, an' he fell in love wid' you. He ain't in jail 'cause he wants ta be. He's in jail for _you_."

"I know he is. But it won't do no good if I'm not there either."

He sighed in frustration. "What're ya talkin' 'bout? Ya wanna get yourself thrown in jail?"

I away slightly and put my head down. "I need to be with 'im."

"No, you don't!" Patch screamed. His unexpected reaction shocked me.

I was almost scared as I looked into his eyes. I didn't even know what to say.

"Lissen, I ain't gonna tell ya what ta do. But I jist need ta tell ya somedin' 'dat I've learned."

I nodded, signaling for him to go on.

"Jist ask yourself what sacrifices are woith it. I mean, is Conlon woith fightin' for?"


	13. Welcome To The Jungle

The next few days, I barely kept myself sane. If and when I got out of bed, I didn't make it far without collapsing. In a few seconds I would be whisked away to the kitchen and strapped down until I agreed to eat something. I went outside for a breath of fresh air or for a cigarette. I stared at an empty wall until one of the boys literally carried me somewhere else. I had red scars like sleeves on my arms that no one could pass by without staring at.

"Twig?" Mac said, coming into the bunkroom when I was getting ready for bed. I looked at him blankly.

"Ya a'ight?" He asked. I looked down at the ground and he sat down next to me.

"Look, I know I dunno how ya feel an' I don't know what it's like ta be… y'know… but I want ya ta enjoy life. 'Cause when you'se is like 'dis, it hoits all of us. We don' wanna see ya like 'dis no more."

I felt tears form in the back of my eyes. I tried to bite down hard on my lip to stop them, but I couldn't.

"I jist dunno what to do anymore," I started to sob. Mac took me in his arms and held me there for a while.

"I can't jist move on. We had somedin… I can't forget about him. I won't."

"Ya don't have ta. But Spot wouldn't wanna see ya like 'dis." I nodded through my tears and said good-night to him. But as soon as he turned off the light, I slipped out the window with a cigarette in my mouth and headed off to Queens.

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I went to the Lodging House unannounced, for fear that I would be wrestled down to the ground by the Brooklyn newsies and carried back to Brooklyn

"'Ey, boys," I greeted to the oldest boys, who were still up playing poker. Link looked up and smiled.

"Well, if it ain't my favorite goil in Queens," he said, getting up to give me a hug.

"'Ya a'ight?" He looked me up and down, and seeing the bandages up my arms, he sighed. "Wha' happened? Get inta a fight or somedin'?" As soon as he said that, Dice cleared his throat as though he was trying to hint at something. Patch just looked at the ground.

"Let's talk," he said, taking me into his room and sitting me down.

"So ya gettin' inta trouble ovah there or wha'?" Link chuckled.

"Link, don' do this. Y'know what's goin' on."

"What?" He asked blankly.

"Spot's in jail."

"Yeah," Link sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"Did ya think I wouldn't know? Did ya think no one would tell me?"

Link shook his head. "I didn't want ya ta know, a'ight? I wanted ta keep ya safe 'cause I knew you'd do somethin' stupid."

"I ain't doin' anythin' stupid," I said hotly. Link sat down next to me and put a hand on my leg. I looked up at him with fire in my eyes.

"Look, I know why ya here. I know you'se is tryin' ta get Spot outta jail, an' I ain't helpin' ya."

"You'se is even more of a coward than I thought," I spat. With no warning, he grabbed me by the arm.

"I did it to protect you," he said firmly. My mouth opened slowly and stood slightly open until I found my voice again.

"Did what?" I questioned nervously.

Link sighed. "I made a deal wid' Snyder 'dat I'd tell 'im where ta find Conlon if he let ya stay outta jail." My eyes grew wider and wider until my stomach rose in a knot up to my throat.

"I did it for you," he whispered, once again putting his hand on my leg, except this time it was much higher up. I jumped up quickly.

"You betrayed him! You – he trusted you to take care of me and you stabbed him in the back!"

"But I got ya out, an' 'dats what he wanted. He wanted you'se ta be safe! An'… you'se was always safe wid' me," he said. I backed up as he was trying to come closer.

"Safe maybe, but dat's it. You ain't Spot Conlon," I answered, turning away from him.

Link followed me for a few steps and I heard him stop at the doorway.

"Where are ya goin'?"

I thought, then turned around to look at him. "I'm tired of bein' safe."


	14. Safe and Sound

That night, with almost one hundred newsies from Brooklyn and Midtown, we marched to Mr

That night, with almost one hundred newsies from Brooklyn and Midtown, we marched to Mr. Weisel's newspaper stand, which is where I decided to make the biggest sacrifice I had ever made.

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I got turned in around midnight, and made sure I was the last to be captured so the other boys would fill up the upper floors of the jailhouse. I peeked in through the window and sure enough, there was Spot, sitting there on the grungy dirt floor or the basement.

"No funny business this time," the officer said, grabbing a tight hold of my arm while escorting me downstairs.

"Remember this one?" The officer asked the guard. He looked at me and turned away. "Lock her up."

I saw Spot's eyes fly open and study me carefully. After it had sunk in, he jumped to his feet and ran to the edge where his cell met mine and gripped the bars tightly.

"You promised you wouldn't do anything stupid," I somehow managed to smirk.

"Nell, what the – ya can't stay here. What didja do? Jesus, are you crazy?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm crazy," I cried, placing my hands on top of his and grabbing on as tight as I could. "You promised you wouldn't do anything stupid, but I didn't."

"Jesus. I can't –" his words got cut off by the tears flowing down his cheeks, and every now and then he'd sniffle. "I love you. You're never leavin' my sight again, you hear me? You're gonna marry me, even if I gotta hold ya down."

My eyes widened. "Marry you?"

His lips curled up as he took something out of his back pocket. He explained it before I even got to see what it was.

"Sorry, it's been under my ass for a few days," he chuckled.

A ring. A hand-made tin foil ring. I felt tears sting harshly behind my eyes, and he pulled me in closer by placing his hand on the back of my head.

"Nell," he said, whispering so that we wouldn't be heard. "I promise ta love you, to cherish forever. I promise no mattah how bad things get, even if we think we can't do it no more, we gotta. Cuz I can't do it without you." Spot's voice quivered with the last words, and he gently took my hand and placed the ring on my finger.

I took off the gold antique ring from my right index finger that I found in the gutter a few years ago, and held it in my palm.

"Spot, as much as it kills me ta keep losin' you, I'd do it a million times more jist to see you again. Jist like this." Just then I started to cry, and he held me even with the harsh metal bars separating us.

"Promise me it'll always be like this," I said, talking about our love for each other rather than the fact that we were both in jail.

"It'll always be like this," Spot whispered, leaning forward and just barely kissing my forehead.

"Promise me you'll keep me safe."

Spot sniffled and nodded. "I promise."

I started to cry again and needed to ask him one more thing.

"Promise me you'll stay alive."

He locked his watery blue eyes into mine and nodded vigorously. "I promise... I promise."

I slid the ring on his finger and we smiled through our tears, and Spot took my chin in his trembling hand.

"I won't quit you… ever."


End file.
